


Keeping Warm in the Darklands

by Stories_from_Unicron



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: Anal Gaping, Anal Play, Bodyswap, Consensual Kink, Deepthroating, Gunmar is a huge bag of suck, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Loving Marriage, Multi, Power Bottom, Rape Roleplay, Scent Kink, Size Difference, Stricklander's unique brand of diplomacy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:47:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_from_Unicron/pseuds/Stories_from_Unicron
Summary: A series of fetishy shorts and PWP's with Gunmar the Black and his reluctant mate Stricklander.
Relationships: Gunmar/Walter Strickler | Stricklander
Comments: 10
Kudos: 38





	1. Negotiating Diplomacy, part 1

Gunmar crushed the piece of paper into a ball the size of a quail-egg. The blue veins on his knuckles glowed as he let it drop to the ground. With a snort, he brought his hoof down, grinding until the paper was reduced to shreds.

Strickler blinked a bit. His hand hovered in front of the Gumm-Gumm king; offering up a fountain pen.

With a sigh, he tucked it back into his pocket. "So, you're not ready to sign, i take it?"

"I have granted Trollmarket my mercy, and they demand more! I'll sign the amendment. With the blood of their Trollhunter!"

"Well it _just so happens..._ "

Stricker drew a second sheet of paper out of his jacket, "I have another copy." He lifted his eyebrows, smiling with warm, playful persuasion."And if you really wanted to send a message, we could get a few pints from him. Think of the nuance, clemency in one hand, a threat in the other. You could grant the amendment and have enough blood left over to write a page's worth of threats."

Gunmar tore the paper from his grasp. He ripped it into two pieces, then four. Strickler's hand went for his jacket.

"If you have a third paper, I will force it down your throat." Gunmar growled, lifting the Decimaar blade in warning.

Strickler used two fingers to carefully push the sword away from his face.

"I understand you have a reputation to uphold, but think about this. If deserters were allowed to come forward and publicly name themselves without fear of persecution; our ties with Trollmarket would strengthen tenfold!" He stood a little straighter, lifting his fist for emphasis. "Imagine, long-time residents, allowed to celebrate their Gumm-Gumm heritage without fear! Looking back fondly on the old war songs and fire dances, Freely sharing recipes for human stew! Not for implementing, but purely as a celebration of culture, of course."

Strickler's eyes glinted yellow in a changeling wink. "Trolls are slow to trust newcomers, but if they became aware that their friends and neighbors were descended from your ranks, then imagine how much smoother it'll be to plant your supporters among them."

"No. No mercy for those who betray me." Gunmar turned his back. "I will hear nothing more of this. "

"Gunmar, for once in your life would you please listen to reason." Strickler started to follow, but the Warlord gave him a look that promised violence.

Reluctantly, he came to a stop.

"Where are you going?" Strickler asked.

"To ready my horde for the _**Mosparag**_."

Strickler had no idea what that referred to, and he was too irritated to ask.

"You do that then. While you're playing with your pets, I'll be the only one working to keep this blasted treaty in place! I'm going to the surface, and while I'm there you can just go ahead and enjoy your cold bedfurs!"

Nomura nodded sympathetically and offered Strickler another one of her special maple-bacon brownies.

"And what did he say after that?" She asked.

"And that oaf--" he snarled around a mouthful of crumbs, "That absolute chav, turns to me and says,"

Here, Strickler lowered his voice in a gutteral mockery of Gunmar's gravel.

"You don't have enough meat on your bones to keep ME warm! I swear, just..." he sighed in disgust. " _Trolls_."

"Trolls." Nomura agreed, sitting back on the couch.

The two of them sat in comfortable silence for a bit, listening to the cheerful notes of _"Welche Wonne, welche Lust"_ rising from Nomura's record player.

"Wait," she said suddenly, "When did you ask him for the favor?"

"I thought I caught him in a good mood." Strickler answered, "He'd just finished killing someone. Usually that makes him happy."

"You're asking a Warlord to forgive deserters. If you wanna convince him, just do what I do with Draal."

"Today's already been horrible. The last thing I want is to think of you with Draal."

"Listen," Nomura stretched her arms over her head, shifting into her troll form. "Draal and Gunmar are both Bull Trolls; it's percentages."

"Percentages?" Strickler scooted toward the end of the couch to give her more room.

"Percentages. Bulls are fifty percent stone, fifty percent testosterone. So if you want something from them, it's ten percent persuasion, and ninety percent perspiration."

She made a circle with her fingers for emphasis.

"If you want him to be putty in your hands, then get him alone and make him melt. Do whatever it is that turns Gunmar into Funmar."

Strickler didn't answer. He couldn't catch his breath between gagging and laughing.

"How many brownies have you had?" He asked, brushing away a few tears.

Nomura's eyes widened, and a look of horror crossed her face. "Not enough. NOT ENOUGH! Give me another brownie!"

"What's wrong?"

"I just pictured him naked!"

Strickler checked the time on his cellphone nervously. Gunmar was not an overly social creature. More often than not, he was content to leave Strickler to his own devices in the Darklands.

One notable exception was supper.

It was customary for a Gumm-Gumm King and Queen to eat together. Sharing a meal was a sign of solidarity to the rest of the tribe, a way of showing the troops a united front.

Gunmar insisted on it and Strickler was over an hour late.

He knew that his husband didn't like to be kept waiting.

Bits of gravel fell from the ceiling of the library as heavy footsteps shook the caverns. Strickler set his phone aside and shifted to troll form as the Warlord's frame filled the doorway.

"You dare to defy my commands, Stricklander!?"

"Nothing as dramatic as that. I just thought I'd skip dinner." Stricklander replied, "Just like I skipped lunch. It might make it easier for you to help me."

As he spoke, the changeling used his palms to hoist himself back and up, coming to rest on the stone ledge that served as a writing desk. Gunmar lowered his horns to fit through the doorway, glancing around the Library as if seeing it for the first time.

"What help?" He demanded, closing the space between them.

"A river troll acquaintance gave me a Spirare charm, a breath totem, in exchange for helping him set up a stall in trollmarket. I thought we could test it together."

Stricklander's claws tugged at the eye-clasp holding his cape in place, and the heavy cloak fell away. The chill of the Darklands prickled across his exposed stone.

The river troll totem was a triangle above three simple lines. The alchemical symbol for air. The blue chalcedony charm was set at the base of his breastbone, held in place by dozens of nylon guitar strings. The intersecting strands crossed his green skin like a body stocking.

Gunmar's change in mood was instant. The Warlord took a keen interest in Stricklander's nudity, his blue flaring with equal parts appreciation and suspicion.

"Consider this my attempt at diplomacy. I know I went about asking you for a favor the wrong way." Stricklander shifted on the desk, pushing a few books aside so that he could stretch out across it. He gestured for Gunmar to come closer; as languid as a roman emperor in a chaise lounge.

"You think I would enjoy drowning you?" Gunmar crouched lower to examine the charm. His claws glowed as he gave it a tug, testing the durability of the guitar strings.

Stricklander let his head fall over the edge of the desk. Upside down, he smirked to himself and began working at the rusted buckle holding Gunmar's belt in place.

"Now, it doesn't have to be drowning." The changeling's breath hissed between his teeth as the strip of leather fell away, taking Gunmar's heavy faulds with it. "All that we need to test the charm is a lack of air."

Carefully, Stricklander tucked his hand between Gunmar's legs; peeling away the metal cup protecting the Warlord's gronk-nuks. It clattered to the ground as the steam of coppery troll musk struck his face.

"You really are foul." He wrinkled his nose, but his show of revulsion became much less convincing as pressed himself closer to the rugged scent.

Gunmar began to growl. The deep, reptilian bellow thrumming through his body, loud enough to rattle a few books off the shelf. "A mating call already?" Stricklander grinned, sliding his claws along his mate's groin, "Well, I suppose it has been a while. Let's see what other sounds I can wring out of you."

The opening to Gunmar's preputial sheath was barely a crack, invisible to the naked eye. But only as long as he was flaccid.

"There we are." Stricklander felt the entrance with the pads of his fingers. The changeling chuckled, nuzzling his cheek against Gunmar's groin. With practiced strokes, he stuck out his pink tongue and traced it along that hair-thin slit.

His licks were brief and teasing at first, feathery flits along the warm black line. Then the strokes slowed, and Stricklander pushed the tip his tongue into Gunmar's sheathe.

The Gumm-Gumm King growled his approval. His lone eye rolled closed as the changeling probed deeper. Stricklander could feel the familiar texture of his mate's retractor muscle, tense as a tightrope. The cord began to relax beneath his probing tounge, and it wasn't long before he could taste the meady head of Gunmar's rut.

Stricklander rolled onto his front for better leverage. The Warlord's growls became a groan as his queen coaxed his rut out of hiding, lathing his tongue over the tip until it was out, then curling his finger's around the head. The organ flexed like some hideous animal emerging from its burrow; nodose and coated in a clear, saliferous slime.

"That's one benefit to mating with a Troll. They come pre-lubricated." Stricklander smirked, pumping his fist over the tapered head to tease out the last few inches.

He glanced up, his yellow eyes tilting as he gave his mate a knowing look. Without breaking eye contact, he formed his thumb and index into a circle and dragged it down the length of Gunmar's cock until the girth forced his fingers apart. His hand now generously coated in the clear slime, Stricklander rolled onto his back again. Slowly, he slid his claws along the front of his thin body before dipping them down to touch himself.

The Warlord said nothing. His crooked grin seemed to suggest that he was perfectly content to let his Queen do the talking. For now.

The changeling's eyes closed, sighing as he rubbed the lubricant between his hanging lips. The heavy rut smacked twice against his cheek, and He smiled; opening his eyes.

"So anxious. It's only been a month since our last rutting. I've _spoiled_ you. You used to be able to wait for nine." Stricklander grabbed the cock, tugging on it to coax Gunmar to step closer.

When the warlord's thighs brushed his horns, the changeling chuffed.

"What do you think?" he asked, draping the organ over his front, "Enough to take my breath away?"

With his forehead pressed to the base, the very tip of the rut came to rest just above the hollow where his navel would be. If he weren't a changeling, that is.

"You think this will persuade me to do your bidding?" When Gunmar finally spoke, there was a husky rasp to his voice.

"I am shocked. _Shocked._ Do you actually think I would misuse the sacred bonds of marriage to get my way?" Stricklander smirked at the way Gunmar's eye raked over him, comparing the changeling to his length. It was an obscene difference, unnatural. Like mating a deer to a bull.

He knew that his mate was thinking about the obscenity. The taboo.

He could tell by the way his cock curled with anticipation.

"Wait!" He shoved at Gunmar as the warlord clawed at him, trying to turn him around, "What are you doing? I don't breathe through that end! We need to test the totem."

Stricklander readjusted himself, letting his head fall back over the edge of the desk once more. He touched the Spirare charm, murmuring a brief incantation. The flare crystals in the walls flickered, and a few pages fluttered to the ground as a gust of cool wind rushed through the room. The air was visible for a brief second, swirling above the charm before collapsing into it; infusing the totem with a faint purple light.

Stricklander took a careful breath and held it for a count of ten. His lungs didn't burn. If anything, they felt pleasantly cool. There was no pressure at all, no urge to exhale.

"We have an hour." he stated, lifting Gunmar's rut with his fingertips,

"Let's not waste it."


	2. Negotiating Diplomacy, Part 2

Stricklander smirked.

  
The narrow head of Gunmar's lust was twitching.

With a growl that was very nearly a purr, He twined his wet tongue around the head, cradeling it in his palm.

The familiar taste of his mate sent a sweet ache to his crux, and the changeling slid two claws between his lips. 

He opened his knees, tucking his ankles close.

He wanted his King to get a good look, after all. 

Gunmar clearly agreed. His hooves scraped against the stone floor as he stepped forward to admire the display. 

Stricklander grinned, bringing his teeth together. He shifted, angling up his chin so that they glanced wickedly over the Warlord's cock.

Gunmar pressed his hips forward, and the changeling bit down, the flesh yeilding to his tusks like silk-covered clay. 

Stricklander had spent their entire marriage studying Gunmar's weaknesses. He knew that he had a bad hip that flared up without heartstone. He knew that his blind spot was directly above his horns.

And with the organ pinned between his teeth, he knew _exactly where_ to press his tongue to bring Gunmar to his **knees**.

Stricklander prodded at the weeping cusp, and the Gumm-Gumm King nearly doubled over. 

He pushed his tongue inside, and the stone desk cracked under Gunmar's claws.

The warlord shuddered with every probing stroke and briefly, Stricklander wondered if he could make Gunmar climax with just his tongue. 

The thought made him chuckle, and that smug little noise was one taunt too many.

With an impatient snarl Gunmar reached down and grabbed his jaw, forcing his thumb into the corner of his mouth.

The changeling jolted as his tusks were forced apart.

_"Glrk!"_

His startled yelp became a choking sound as Gunmar pushed forward.

The force of his hips was almost like a punch. Stricklander's vision briefly went black.

The Warlord rumbled and drew back, readjusting his aim. His first thrust had been off the mark. He'd crammed it into the changeling's cheek, rather than down his throat.

The organ bobbed, and It was clear from Gunmar's growls that he was growing frustrated. 

Stricklander noticed his souring mood. 

Quickly, he grabbed the length. And without a word, he relaxed his jaw and coaxed the rut forward.

His mate didn't hesitate.

"UUGH!" 

Stricklander's eyes went wide as Gunmar shoved past his pharnyx in a single stroke. 

The changeling clutched at his throat. Even though he'd been anticipating it, there was still a shock at the feeling of his mate's bulge beneath his palm.

Gunmar shifted, and Stricklander barely managed to brace himself.

The second thrust went deeper, the organ pushed forward like a battering ram. 

"Gnulk!" 

Stricklander let out a pathetic little gagging noise as his epiglottis was shoved aside to make room for more cock.

There was a brief flare of panic as his airway was blocked and stretched.

But the Spirare charm continued it's steady glow. 

Shakily, The changeling let his hands fall, trying his best not to wince as the organ worked it's way down the rest of his throat.

Stricklander had expected pain, but other than the dull ache in his jaw, his body was holding up well.

There was pressure, of course, and an uncomfortable urge to swallow.

So he did, clenching the muscles in his throat in a long, slow gulp.

Gunmar began to groan, and Stricklander jolted as the Warlord grabbed onto a pair of stalactites hanging from the ceiling.

"Uhlm..." the changeling hummed uncertainly, but his mate was still half-buried his throat, and in no state to listen to his concerns.

The Bull Troll began to buck, his hips ploughing into his mate's face so hard that Stricklander saw stars.

A heavy fullness settled into his belly, along with fifteen inches of rut. It was a slick, queasy feeling, like he'd swallowed some massive, still living snake that was now stretching itself languidly along the inside of his stomach.

When Gunmar pulled back, the organ would slip out, and there would be a brief moment of relief before he was stuffed and squirming once again.

It felt _revolting,_ but each thrust pressed Gunmar's taint to his face, and the familiar stench of his mate's pheromones sent needling pangs of want through his crux.

Stricklander whimpered, pushing three fingers into his drenched entrance. He worked his thumb in circles over his clit, lifting his hips in time with Gunmar's thrusts.

A bubbling blend of pre-cum and saliva ran down his cheek as Stricklander let out gagged, pleading sounds of pleasure.

The green expanse of his abdominals twitched and roiled, his supple skin stretching as the head of Gunmar's rut beat against it over and over again. 

There was a deafening crack, and the Warlord stumbled, drawing back a few steps.

Stricklander grunted and choked as the Rut slipped free, gasping on reflex and lifting a hand to rub at his sore throat.

He coughed, spat, then turned his head to try and see what had thrown Gunmar off.

The Bulltroll's chest heaved, nostrils flaring with thwarted lust.

Clutched in one claw was a broken chunk of stalactite, about thirteen inches long and as wide as his wist. 

Stricklander lifted a shaky hand to his lips, wiping his mouth clean as best he could. 

With a soft grunt, he rolled onto his front. He kept his eyes down as he pressed his palms to the desk, head bowed to hide the blood rushing to his cheeks. 

Without a word, he lifted his hips in invitation.

"Turn around." Gunmar rasped, running his tongue along his pitted teeth.

"No." 

Stricklander wrapped his fingers around the Gumm-Gumm King's length, once more urging him forward.

Without a word, the changeling set his narrow hand against Gunmar's hips, leaned forward.

And in three trembling swallows, took his entire length.

Gunmar's claws came to rest on Stricklander's hair, his thumb stroking over his horn in the briefest gesture of approval.

And then the King was moving once more, rocking his hips against his Queen's tusks.

Stricklander dug his nails into Gunmar's hide, clutching at his gray hips as the Bull Troll fucked his throat and stomach. 

He wanted _more_ , he wanted to be pierced completely through, he wanted Gunmar at his back and his front, stuffing him from both ends, filling every cold and lonely spot inside him, seeding him until there was nothing left of emptiness---

Gunmar snarled and grabbed Stricklander's ass.

Then he pushed the stalactite into his winking crux.

Stricklander clenched around the intruding stone, clamping down on it so hard that Gunmar had to strain to pull it back out.

And then he pressed it in again, angling the tip down to hit at that sweet, electric spot behind his mate's clit.

Stricklander's claws broke his skin. The changeling shrieked and lifted his hip, squirting a sharp-smelling stream of opaque fluid; filling the air with a perfume that commanded a Bull Troll to _mount_ and _seed_ and _claim what was his_ \---

Gunmar pulled back; yanking his rut free just as he reached his peak. 

His seed splashed over the breath totem, drenching his mate's chest and belly, spattering across his lips and teeth, marking him with the scent of the male that that had claimed him.

Stricklander moaned quietly, and Gunmar guided the last few spurts of spend into his open mouth.

The changeling blinked blearily, wiping his eyes just in time to see Gunmar's massive hand moving toward him.

The claw closed on his chest, and Stricklander felt himself being lifted as if he weighed no more than a china doll.

He didn't resist as Gunmar lifted him toward his mouth.

Instead, he wrapped his arm's around the Warlord's neck, and opened his lips to meet his mates.

Stricklander knew how much Gunmar liked to taste himself.

  
By the time the Troll's tongue untangled from his own, the Spirare Charm had gone dark, leaving Stricklander gasping and weak-kneeded.

"Don't---Don't put me down. Not yet. Please."

Gunmar rumbled in reply, cupping his mate's hips so that his hands formed a seat.

Stricklander sighed against Gunmar's neck.

"Are you still angry with me, your Dark Excellence?"

The warlord snorted.

"Before you answer, I'd like to revisit that amendment."

Gunmar's expression darkened, and without a word he dropped his hands, letting Stricklander hit the ground.

The changeling huffed, but pushed himself to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.

"I just want you to consider it. I made a few changes I think you'll approve of."

He pulled a few plastic-sleeved papers from the desk, pausing to wipe away a few wet spots.

"The heart of the proposal remains the same, but I'd like you to check the fine print, right under the clause about about the Pact."

Gunmar's eye flicked from left to right as he scanned the new clause.

Ever so slowly, his black lips began to curl.

Stricklander returned the grin.

"Any deserter who comes forth will be given Clemency, yes, But any Troll with Gumm-Gumm ties that tries to hide it after the law goes into effect will be considered a spy---"

"And will be turned over to me for judgement." Gunmar finished. 

"Once I have your approval, I can present the paper to the Tribunal. And while I'm in Trollmarket, I might as well pick up another Breath Totem."

With a knowing look, he offered Gunmar his favorite fountain pen.

The Warlord took it and signed his name in two, quick, stabbing strokes.

  
Some time later, Strickler roamed through the tunnels by Gunmar's crucible, whistling to himself.

His plan had gone off without a hitch. Of course, he wouldn't give Nomura the ego-boost of admitting her advice worked, but he might send her a box of her favorite

tea, purely because he was a thoughtful and giving friend.

Everything had gone better than he'd hoped. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was forgetting something---

An ear-splitting scream shook the halls, follow by the mournful cry of an advisor in anguish.

"MY LIBRARY!!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made a handy visual aid for those who want it.
> 
> https://imgur.com/a/IY7o1pR


End file.
